


A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence

by skullage



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Genderswap, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullage/pseuds/skullage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's a recreational drug user, Niall is her dealer. Genderbend, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence

The house at the end of Delaney Street isn't where Zayn intends to wind up every Tuesday afternoon, after she's smoked her last blunt and wasted the day away, but it's happened enough over the last two months to develop into a ritual. Niall opens the door in his boxers and snapback, looking the part of drug-dealing chav he plays so well, and welcomes her in without pause. She's never bothered with the formality of a phonecall, and Niall doesn't seem to care much, anyway.

He leads her into the house, voice sleep-rough as he asks how she is, his accent slowed to a drawl. Zayn answers in mono-syllables, watches the sunlight bronze his bare skin where it filters through the windows. The house is covered in a film of smoke, of stale air and sweat that gives impression of time stuck, of waking up or falling asleep. A fresh joint is smoking on the coffee table, sitting in the ashtray on a pile of skin mags. There's a fresh bag on the table among the litter of paraphernalia, and Niall picks it up, holds it out for her. Zayn fishes for the money in her back pocket, a little self-conscious at how Niall stares -- not like he's waiting, but just looking.

People look at Zayn a lot. She spends a lot of time ignoring it, but from Niall it's different. He doesn't expect much from anyone, but the way he looks at her holds something deeper than every other boy that thinks with his cock. He takes the time to assess her without expectation, and it leaves her strung out, adrenaline kicking her heartbeat up a notch. He doesn't sneer at the permanent paint stains on her fingers, or the way her hair's grown out uneven because she shaved the sides two months ago and hasn't done anything with it since. The good businessman that he is, Niall takes her money without judgement, just like last time, and every other time before that.

"You stickin' around?" he asks, but he doesn't need to. Just like how he knew she'd turn up, he already knows she'll stay.

~

Halfway through the movie, Zayn's leg starts to cramp. They've finished their third bong load, back to passing a spliff between them, and she's staring listlessly at the tv; neither of them have moved in at least half an hour.

"Love this part," Niall muses, as Ken Jeong jumps, naked, out of the boot.

"You and the rest of the English speaking world," Zayn remarks.

Niall grins. "'Cause they got great taste, like this guy." He points his thumbs to his chest, lets out a burp that is mostly smoke. Zayn laughs. "'Scuse manners," Niall adds with a fist to his mouth.

"Since when?" Zayn scoffs, and Niall shrugs. A tuft of blonde hair sticks out from under the rim of his cap, the red of his cheeks and chest contrasting against his pale skin. The glare from the sun frames his head, turns him cherubic the way Niall has never been, the sleeping putto come to life. Niall nudges her knee with his own where they're pressed together. The way he meets her gaze is easy, companionable, and when the corner of his mouth lifts in a dopey grin, Zayn finds herself grinning dopily back.

"Hey," he says, and she responds, "hi".

He brings a hand up to brush her hair from her face, catches her lips in a soft kiss. It tastes of weed and the stale air of the room and the six pack of Brolsch he's downed already, but also something else. Something distinctly him. She chases it eagerly, fits their lips together and swings her leg over his. Niall tugs at her waist and she goes willingly, melting into it like a dying roach, burning holes into the tits of the girls on Niall's magazines.

~

Mostly, it's not like this. The guys Zayn meets are handsy, grabby, push you on your back but lack the finesse to make it worthwhile. Zayn's sitting up on the couch in the same position she was before, except this time with Niall's head squeezed between her thighs. Funny how several minutes can mean such a big difference. How so many boys before can make this that much better.

Niall curls his tongue up against the folds of her cunt, and Zayn whines. It sends a lick of warmth through her that makes her stomach muscles clench and her eyes fall shut. Niall's hair tickles her thighs and belly, his cap forgotten in his haste to get his mouth on her, a casualty to the ensuing tussle. His hands are pressed to her hips, holding her but not holding her down, despite the way she shudders and bucks when he starts to lick wholeheartedly.

His thumb strokes her ribs, the underside of her breast, finds her nipple as he pushes his tongue in further, dishing out greedy noises of approval at the way her hips slide forward and her hand squeezes his around her breast. Her other hand is in his hair, clenching in an effort not to drag him forward, acting on reflex at the memory of how he grinned when he asked if he could eat her out, how much he loved it, how he'd make it good for her. Zayn's near coming at the thought coupled with the actuality.

Niall burrows his head down, closes his mouth around her clit and sucks until sparks shoot up her spine and her body goes taut with her orgasm. The smog lies thick in her lungs and it's an effort not to choke on the moan she exhales as her orgasm hits. For several long seconds she's stuck to the leather of the couch, a fly in honey, shaking beneath Niall's hands. He continues to suck until she musters enough energy to push him away and he grins, face shiny with her fluid, his arms shiny with sweat, a red flush spread over his cheeks.

"Wow, fuck," she breathes, because time isn't standing still; the movie still plays, and the spliff still burns, discarded on the table. "That was -- fucking stellar as always."

Niall grins, proud -- not with himself for the praise, but because he did something to deserve it. It took several sessions, but Zayn gets him now. He's the kind of guy that loves to make other people feel good about themselves. Loves the feeling he gets from doing things for people, if it's a round of hash brownies, or giving fantastic head, or teaming up with a mate to win them a Beirut tournament. The amount of time he's spent on his knees with his head in Zayn's crotch is testament to how Niall lives for pleasing other people. It's lucky for Zayn he's so damn good with his mouth.

She pushes the hair off her sweaty face with a shaky hand, breathes past the ache in her throat as her heart rate slows to a gallop. Niall's forehead is too warm where it's pressed against her stomach, but she appreciates the contact anyway, scratches her nails across his scalp. Only when he flexes his hand does she realise it's still on her tit, jumps when he strokes his thumb over her nipple again.

"Bugger off," she grunts. He muffles a laugh into her chest, kisses between her breasts as he makes his way up. She struggles to shift forward under the weight of the smoke in her lungs, but murmurs reassurance into his hair while his fingers press into her hipbones. Niall wraps his arms around her back and pulls her forward easily; weed makes her lethargic, but Niall is active, hyper, eager. He kisses her sloppily, hungrily, until Zayn's head spins and she moans into his mouth.

When he pulls her against him she goes easily, slips off the couch into his lap. They laugh as they tumble onto the floor, a sweaty pile of limbs, three parts flesh and one part smoke. Zayn kisses across the flush of red on Niall's chest, kisses the grin off his face. He's already hard when she reaches into his pants and bucks into her hand.

"Yeah, that's good," he says, "fuck, like that," at the way she strokes him to full mast. It's a pretty sight to see him clench his eyes shut, mouth finding her nipple on instinct to wrench another soft moan out of her, and Zayn likes it. Likes when Niall loses himself to this. He's so shameless about it. Moans low from the back of his throat when she thumbs the head of his cock, closes his mouth around her breast when she arches her back.

It doesn't take long before he's rutting into her hip. "Ready?" Zayn asks, and Niall manages a jerky nod, opens his eyes to watch her swing a leg over his hips and climb on top. He pushes in as soon as she lines up, eyes wide and glassy, staring at Zayn like she hung the moon. Zayn grins down at him, relishes the way she has to adjust, the way he watches her, rapt, when she begins to move. 

~

There's probably something fucked up about how Zayn's only friend is a drug dealer. She voices it and Niall just shrugs. The movement jostles her slightly, and she waits for him to settle before leaning back into him again.

"My only friend is an art major, so I guess you got the monopoly on that one."

Zayn tips her head back and Niall snatches the spliff out of her mouth. "Yeah, he's the worst. Always playing Justin Bieber when I come 'round. Doesn't even own any Kanye."

"What a shite," Niall replies around the joint. Zayn's stomach growls loud enough that they both stop and stare at each other.

"Pizza," Zayn says, at the same time Niall goes, "Definitely time for a pizza."

They end up getting four, because Niall can eat at least two by himself without breaking a sweat. Zayn's seen it; it's terrifying. Niall answers the door in his boxers and the delivery guy doesn't even bat an eyelid, which Niall tells Zayn is because he's Niall's regular guy, and it takes a minute for the realisation to sink in that it's because of her. This is part of their ritual, too -- pizza after they've fucked each other sore, smoked themselves hungry. Another Bradley Cooper movie playing on Niall's set-top box. Three slices of pizza in and the rest abandoned when Zayn spills pineapple on her stomach and Niall licks it off, with the pretence of not wasting good food even though he doesn't eat pineapple because of the way it gets stuck in his braces. All part of the small intimacies they've accumulated between them like souvenirs, the way Niall intentionally holds her hands during a game of slaps, or how Zayn can recite all the chords to "Boyfriend" even though she's never picked up a guitar.

They fuck on the couch, and Zayn accidentally kicks the pizza boxes off the coffee table when Niall makes her come for the third time that afternoon. 

~

The good thing about being friends with a guitar-playing drug dealer is that every time Zayn comes over, she's treated to a private show.

Unfortunately with Niall, each show follows the same vein as the last.

"Please tell me you didn't study guitar for eight years just to learn Top 40."

Niall pauses midway through an acoustic rendition of Usher's "Confessions" to make a face at her. "Alright, how about this then." He starts strumming a soft tune, continues for a few bars while humming along to the melody and picks up the pace. It's not very complicated, but it's catchy.

"Nice, got any lyrics?"

Niall bites his lip. "'Spose so," he answers.

Zayn watches him blush. "What's that mean?"

"Okay, don't laugh. Harry and I wrote it, it's a new one for his band."

"Aren't they more, y'know." She searches for the right word and settles on, "Thrashier?"

Niall shrugs. "They dabble." He starts the song over, clears his throat before he sings, voice husky from the pot. Zayn's never said anything, but Niall has a nice voice. With his boy-next-door looks and musical talent he could get a contract no problem. The fans would go crazy for the accent. He sings the chorus, repeats the same line, _you've got that one thing_ , while Zayn just listens, knees drawn up to her chest.

"What did you say Harry's band was called?"

"Skunk Trio," Niall replies, still strumming. "Yeah, they like to think of themselves as Indie-Rock, but Ed's been helping them write some stuff so now it's all soulful and pop, with a bit of beatboxing thrown in."

Zayn nods. "So it's more like Skunk Quartet." Niall grins.

"Sounds better than Skunk Trio."

"And if they put you in, they'd be Skunk Penta."

"Is that a Mexican dish?"

"You nonce." Zayn muffles a laugh into her arm.

The sunset casts shadows through the room. She feels the sudden drop in temperature as it hits, now they're relatively sober and not pressed together sharing body heat, or working for it. When she reaches for her shorts Niall stops playing, puts his guitar aside and stands up. He walks over to her on the couch with the pretence of grabbing another piece of pizza and falls down next to her, slice jammed into his mouth. Zayn scoffs and pulls her tee over her head.

"Really, Nialler? More food."

"I'm a growing lad," he counters around a mouthful, swallows to continue, "and all that fucking worked up my appetite. Speaking of."

He waggles his eyebrows, but with half a slice of pizza in his hand it's more endearing than erotic. Zayn tries not to be endeared, and doesn't do a very good job of it.

"You look sexy holding that pizza," she says.

It's a joke. Kind of.

Niall swallows. He looks between her and the food like it's the hardest choice he's ever had to make, and, honestly, Zayn's a little flattered when he flings it over the back of the couch.

"Niall! What a waste. I would've eaten that."

He glares at her and Zayn presses her lips together trying not to laugh at his charade. Niall's expression turns serious as he stares at her mouth and for a second Zayn thinks Niall's trying to seduce her, albeit with less smouldering than what she's used to.

"Come on then," she prods, flopping back on the couch, slinging her legs up into his lap.

Niall's eyes widen in surprise for a split second before he grins and lies down too, squished to back of the couch, half on-top of her. She laughs now, too easily taken in by him, like last time, and the time before that. Niall huffs a laugh into her mouth, murmuring _what_ , but Zayn shakes her head.

"Don't ruin it," she jokes, arching up into him. He cups her breast through her shirt, mumbles non-syllabic agreement at the absence of a bra, before his hand disappears. A second later he's pushing the waistband of her shorts down, getting his fingers into her cunt where she's already wet.

He fingers her, dirty and messy, eyes fixed on her face to watch as she loses composure, gives in. His own eyes widen as hers do, trace the line of her shuddering body, and stare, transfixed, at where his fingers disappear into her, swirls them around in her slickness as though this is the first time he's witnessed it, drinking it in as though it'll be the last. She closes her eyes, gives up trying to watch him watch her, but Zayn can still feel his gaze, despite his erection digging into her thigh and his own pre-come smearing across her skin through his pants. Niall twists his fingers, scissors them, presses on her clit to wrench moans from her, and when she opens her eyes again he's staring at her face, a filthy grin splitting his face in two.

~

Zayn can barely muster enough energy to protest at Niall's dead weight on top of her. The high has abated to a slow, steady thrum under her skin, but her throat is dry enough that her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth and the pizza sauce stuck in her teeth tastes like hash. They gave up kissing when they couldn't spare any more saliva and walking to the fridge meant a break in eating or fucking, which neither of them were prepared to do. Now the pizza's gone and they're both spent, but Zayn's head has started to throb and her muscles burn from exertion.

Eventually she goes to push herself up, hoping Niall will get the hint and move, when she hears snoring, feels Niall's even breaths where his head lies on her chest, the rest of his body resting in the v of her legs.

Fuck it, she decides, stroking a hand through his hair. She closes her eyes and follows Niall's lead.

~

Niall gets a call when they're in the kitchen, downing the last of the Coronas. It's brief, curt, and even if Zayn were listening she probably wouldn't be able to pick much up. Niall hangs up after a few brief words from his end, and Zayn eyes her bag where it's sitting on the living room floor, the rest of her clothes strewn around it.

"Customer," Niall explains.

"Oh, ok." That's Zayn's cue to leave. She finishes her beer and makes her way back to the couch. The room stinks of them. She'll be smelling Niall on her skin for days.

"Coming over in about fifteen for a pick-up."

She pulls her sweatshirt over her head only to get her bra tangled in her hair where it's stuck in the sleeve. Gives Niall a small grin to show she doesn't mind, that this part of his life is something she's used to. She needs to go, anyway.

"You can stay, he wont be long." He says it so casually that Zayn wants to, despite her better judgement. Coming from Niall it sounds like an easy continuation of a casual thing, but it's close enough to something else that it feels dangerous. Like staying for the night could douse it in oil where right now it's splattered water colour, dripping down the rest of the canvas at a pace they set with their own lethargy. They fell into it easily enough, but Zayn isn't ready for that.

Niall isn't put out when she shakes her head, just hugs her goodbye and shoves the eighth into her bag before she walks out the door. "Don't forget me," he calls after her.

She smiles back, replies, "I won't," without pause.

She'll be back next week, anyway.


End file.
